


I’ll Watch Over You

by PhantasmaDormi



Series: Syndianite/Diacate [14]
Category: Mianite - Fandom, Mianite(Minecraft), Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: (a sad zombie), (actually takes a long time), Characters based purely on the youtube series, Dianite is a God, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Rare Pair, Temporary Amnesia, Tom is a zombie, Unrevised Older Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 06:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12270555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantasmaDormi/pseuds/PhantasmaDormi
Summary: After centuries of trying, failing, working, yearning, Dianite finally revived Tom. But something is wrong. He doesn’t remember his god, their love. He doesn’t remember anything. And in a way, that hurts just as much as losing him.





	I’ll Watch Over You

**Author's Note:**

> Old work from late August

There was something unsettling about the way his eyes flickered between hollow and lively. It was as though he couldn’t quite reconcile where he was, what he was. The normally vibrant man, one who had been still for far too long, was taking in everything is a rather slow fashion. And honestly, it unnerved the god. To see his lover in such a detached state, to watch with a held breath if he would be alright this time.

Brown locked onto his, the warm that used to reside there distant, hesitant. But something was missing. The spark in his eyes, the one that grew the more they spent time together, developed into something more than follower and god, wasn’t there. Something had taken its place. Something cold. In his was the look of unfamiliarity. For the first time in hundreds of years, Dianite dreaded to hear his beloved’s voice.

His face scrunched, eyebrows drawn down, his lips poking out into a mock pout. The contours of his face, so familiar, yet strangely foreign with a mixed hue of green making up his complexion, carved themselves into a look of bafflement. Head tilted to the side, he viewed the god as for the first time. His heart ached, and Dianite wished he, too, could pray to an upper power for another outcome. But he knew. He knew that Tom did not know.

The zombie opened his mouth, teeth glinting a clean white shade, and asked him, “Who are you?”

~

Furia didn’t know what to say. When Dianite appeared from nowhere, directing him towards the room, he wasn’t quite expecting this. The god had brought him in, placed him before Tom, and hightailed it out of there. But the image of the god before he left, jaw set tight, eyes unnaturally focused on anything but the zombie, wings rigid and stiff, feathers ruffled and offset, even the way his muscles were relaxed in the slightest, it spoke volumes. Something was wrong with Tom, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

Said mortal was eyeing him with mild alarm, definitely not in his normal mindset. 

“Holy shit,” he uttered, bringing his attention back from where Dianite fled, “Are you always on fire?” The fire demon gave a slow blink in response. 

Shaking his head, he retorted, “No, I’m fucking made of ice. But we’ll go with yes, to help your slow mind process.” He didn’t mean to lash out, per se, but if Tom was okay, he would have a witty comeback on the edge of his tongue.

Any second now, they would roll right into their typical banter, and Furia would have to go see what spooked the god so bad. But Tom did something extremely uncharacteristic, he backed off. 

“Geez, I didn’t fucking know. It was just a question.” He mumbled the last part, showing vulnerability. The fiery being had only seen him do that in two particular instances: when he wanted someone so under estimate him, or he truly felt comfortable with someone. And right now, he wasn’t really sure which applied. (Seeing as Furia knew the little shit was rather capable, the latter was the only one that happened near him. And not even that often).

Pursing his lips, he decided on one last test. 

“What’s your name?” He was expecting Tom to scoff, to snark about how he was barely gone that long and Furia already forgot his damn name. But he didn’t. The zombie hesitated, mouth open as though the answer was waiting, stuck in his throat. 

Tilting his head in consideration, he asked more than told, “…Tom?” And the demon was truly on board with is god. He wasn’t sure what to do, how to take this, what the twinge of hurt meant when he came upon the realization that Tom knew nothing.

(Furia was sure Dianite wasn’t taking this well. Not at all)

~

Tom was confused. The man that was on fire had asked a few questions before being quiet for a long pause. It was then that he was lead from the room, an oppressing silence draped over them. They ventured through tantamount hallways, a series of twists and turn that seemed tedious, before he found himself before a strange… swirling vortex. It was a peculiar purple shade, lined with nether brick. In the back of his mind, he felt this wasn’t the normal kind of… thing it was.

Enraptured by the mystical projection, he wasn’t ready for the sudden push towards it. He swiveled his head to catch a glimpse of the fire demon’s guilty face, biting his lip as he resolutely stared back at him, before his vision was overtaken by the same violet hue he had been watching.

He felt weightless, stuck between here and there, somewhere and nowhere. A sudden panic expanded in his chest, and he couldn’t breathe. All he could see was a darkening purple, but he couldn’t move, his arms were locked, his legs lax, nothing made sense. His eyes sought out anything, darting around, but there was nothing. It was just him, alone, in an endless space. Opening his mouth to scream, to cry, to hear something, he was given only silence.

But then he was falling. The pressure in his chest was dropping, there but shifting. An inky color was edging into the endless scene. Small, whitish dots were speckled throughout, bringing forth a deep navy color. Finally letting in a gasp, lungs relishing the cool air against the burning need for oxygen, he could feel the pressure ebb. Now all he could see were the stars, shimmering in and out of focus.

Turning his head, he struggled to find anything below him, just a continued expanse of starry sky. Then it slowly occurred to him, as a soft shushing noise reached his ears. He was hurtling towards the ocean. Faintly, against the broad horizon, he could make out a darker shape, perhaps land? But the sliver of light peeking at the edge, bleeding into the starlit sea, gave no clue.

The water was looming before him, and he didn’t know what to do. (He vaguely recalled that it was better to enter feet first, and he could feel phantom pains in his back). Twisting in the air, he struggled to stay feet first, feeling himself lean back against his will. He barely managed to draw in a breath before he plunged in.

It was warmer than the atmosphere he had just plummeted through, and the sting in his knees added to it. With a grimace, he kicked up toward the surface, arms clawing towards the edge. He broke through, panting for breath. Searching for the land he had seen, he wadded around, shivering as the damp wetness seeping into his clothes. Finding the portion of land from earlier, he started towards it. With the stiffness in his limbs, it was going to take a while.

~

The zombie was never so happy to have goddamn sand in his shoes. (When had he put on dress shoes? And a suit? What, was he dressed for a fucking funeral?). His stupid suit was soaked through, and there was little worse than soggy socks, but damn, his arms were burning with the strain of swimming for so long. Flopping as the base of the hill, he sighed. The sun had climbed its way up the sky, beating down on his drowned figure.

Rolling his head around, trying to work out the awkward stiffness, he noticed a body laying a few feet from him. How he hadn’t noticed earlier, who knows, but their limbs were spread out away from them, but there were no drag marks showing that they had pulled themselves up there. Had they been there a while, or had they somehow washed up?

With a groan, Tom dragged himself back up, waddling over to the man (he thinks it’s a man?) and crouched back down, knees making small pops. (Seriously, what the hell had he been doing to get so stiff and tense everywhere?). Poking at the prone figure, he regarded him with a hum. His pasty white face wrinkled with an annoyed moan. A hand swiped at the offending finger, a half-hearted mumble following it.

Bored and perhaps a little mischievous, the green man shed his quite damp jacket and threw it onto the man’s head. He was gifted with a small shriek, as the lanky man struggled to remove the moist cloth. Sitting up with a huff, he held the jacket away from him with a look of disgust. 

“‘Ello mate, how was your nap?” He jumped, looking over at Tom in alarm. 

Eyes narrowing, he queried, “Who are you and why the fuck is this jacket so wet?”

“Tom,” was his immediate response, but it felt incomplete, “Tom Syndicate.” He wasn’t sure were the name Syndicate came from, but it right, felt close to his full name. (He knew that wasn’t it, the last part seemed off, like it was a title more than a name). 

There was a pause, before his companion begrudgingly returned with, “Tucker Boner. Or Jericho. I’ve been called both.”

“Boner? Like getting some-” “Oh shut the fuck up!”

~

Dianite trusted Furia, far more than any normal being. He knew that he would find something to help, especially when the god himself was emotionally compromised. However, he did not expect the solution to be Furia throwing him into the portal, and letting him into the world. Frankly, he wasn’t quite over Tom’s death, and letting him out into world did not sound like a great way to keep him alive.

But Furia even had that covered. Somehow, the (rather special) portal had landed him on the island with respawning. After… a certain event, a large amount of magic remained in the land, and made it to where people who die there… just come back. Whether it was dumb luck or careful planning, he was relieved nonetheless.

Now, courtesy of the fire demon, he was peering into a looking glass, homed in on the newly revived Tom. (He yearned to be there with him, but he wasn’t ready for it). The zombie was prancing around with some other human (he could feel the pure Mianitee radiating off him), and they were struggling to make it through the night. He couldn’t help the flinch as Tom let out a shriek when he was shot by a skeleton. But instead of falling dead (again, not again, please) his body disappeared. In a little puff of smoke, Tom was over at the hill, where he first got to the island, very indignant and pouting.

To see his beloved so full of life, happy even, filled him with unbridled joy. But. It hurt. It was a bittersweet victory, to have him back, but to have lost so much of him. Would they ever find their love again? This Tom, one with new experiences, a whole new life, another chance to find happiness where life once strove to wrench it away from him, would they find their way back to each other?

A cold feeling settled in his stomach. Could he let himself get close again? All those times they shared, all the things they helped each other through, what they bonded over. How could he just… re-write those? Would making new memories erase the value of what used to be? If he let them go, was he disregarding, disrespecting who Tom used to be?  
… is Tom even nearly the man he used to be?

~

Tom finally stopped dying (goddamn skeletons). But he managed to build a neat little home into the side of a mountain, get some swag (Tucker was still struggling in the diamond department, what a scrub). Yet, now that he was set up, some sort of priest rolls in claiming the greatness of Mianite? Some sort of god? It was mildly annoying and mostly confusing. Nonetheless, he was willing to play along with the appeasement of the god, if it meant he could troll Tucker in relative peace.

What he wasn’t expecting, was the god to be an ass. A bit bitchy, doesn’t like to show up much, and seems to be playing favorites. He was about to give in and play the ass kicker (looking at Tucker, kissing the ground he walks on to reap the benefits), when someone new came in. Rather, a new god. Apparently, Mianite had some kickass older brother, ready to fucking fight the bitch. None other than the badass Dianite. (It was weird, how he had barely seen him, just for a few minutes, and he was already very fond of him. He may have acted somewhat cold and gruff, but he knew he could give him his loyalty).

So now, he was happily wreaking chaos and destruction for his god, easily lording over Tucker. And he didn’t know if the god was watching him or not, but he had a burning need to make him happy. (He remembered his first day being awake again, the devastated look on his face when he asked who he was. It unsettled him, made him want to do anything to make it better. Seeing him in pain cut deep in him, and he didn’t know why). He paraded around, juggling being friends with the other humans, with pranking and crusading against them, to just being chill. It was weird, but if his god would be happy, it would be worth it.

And when he was holed up in his house, trying to recover his shit (his damn gift from Dianite), he worried about his warring god just outside. He looked worse for wear, slowly losing the fight to his brother. Mianite, of course, didn’t give a shit, or didn’t notice. He struck the last blow with half glee, half solemnness.

And for a moment it felt as though someone reached in his chest to strangle his heart. His god   
was down, and no one could say whether a god could kill another. Who’s to say, that even as brothers, that Mianite wouldn’t kill the weakened god when he had the chance? Mortal or not, if this bitch actually took out his god, he was going to return the favor. (He felt a sting in his eyes, and dammit, that made him angrier).

But he was just banished back to the nether. Mianite may be a fucking asshat, but at least Dianite wasn’t dead. (And if the squeezing of his heart didn’t lessen any, he couldn’t figure out why).

~

He wasn’t prepared for the sudden insomnia. In the previous weeks, he was fine, sleeping well through the morning after going to bed late at night. But for some reason, now he was straining to get any sleep at all. Each day was a new experience of surviving off baked potatoes, tea, and the general influx of emotions and daily pranks.

It wasn’t that he was too hyped up. Some days he would simply mine, grinding for some more swag. Others he would tend to his indoor garden, trying to get to Champwan levels but failing. The only days he got into whatever he was doing involved pranks. But, due to his lingering exhaustion, he mostly just kept to low power activities. (He thinks the priest is starting to notice, but he hasn’t said anything).

His erratic schedule normally didn’t affect him, perhaps a side effect of being a zombie. He was used to going long into the night, practically morning, and sleeping late into the day. It was just his style. But even now, as he just, sat there, staring listlessly out his window, he couldn’t find sleep.

The night wore on, the stars wandering through the sky. He couldn’t just sit here anymore. Even if he was tired, no ready to fucking drop. But he rose, meandering down the steps of his home. Pausing his at his steps, he peered out into the gloom. It was quiet, the usual rustling of mobs not present. Venturing out into the world, he simply wandered.

On occasion, he would catch sounds of other life, but each sweep of his eyes found nothing but flora. So, he continued on his way, finding his feet going in the general direction of Hecz’s house. (Whatever happened to the man, after he informed them he was going on a trip? Did he decide he liked wherever he was better, or had he perished?). It wasn’t long before he ran out of land, stopped by the shore. He plopped himself on the beach, content to stay there for a while.

His mind felt fuzzy, plagued by the lack of sleep. He heard a slow set of footsteps, but he couldn’t make himself give a shit. There was nothing valuable on him, and respawning was a quick endeavor. At least he wouldn’t have to walk home. But he received no agony, no pain of any sort. Instead, he turned his head to see the zombie making a rather peculiar expression. With a long groan, it bent its knees and unceremoniously fell beside him.

He wasn’t sure he was actually seeing this, or rather hallucinating, but the other zombie repositioned itself to seemingly uncomfortably sit beside him. The two stared at each other, and a deep understanding as set in the other’s eyes. It was strange, how something known to hunt people down on the pure need to be somewhat more human again, could possess the emotions he was feeling. But it knew. Somewhere in those black, dead eyes, it too, knew what was wrong.  
For a while Tom had thought it was seeing his god die, but that wasn’t it. It was seeing the one who drug him from the void (he had pieced it together after some hard consideration) fall so easily. If he could fall, who’s to say Tom wouldn’t fall as well? And he knows, better than any of his human companions, that the void will mercilessly swallow anyone. And this zombie knew. For it had found its way out somehow.

And they stayed there until the sun rose, staring at the sky. When his companion solemnly started to burn, Tom shed his first tears since his revival. (He wondered, if one day, instead of burning to death, would he just… despawn? Get swallowed by the void once more. He didn’t want to know).


End file.
